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I recently accepted a position from Teach and Learn with Georgia, a Georgian Ministry of Education program designed to bring native speakers of English into classrooms around the country. I will be moving to Georgia in August of 2014 to begin my assignment.

Before this latest adventure, I studied at Bogazici University in Istanbul Turkey and at Azerbaijan University of Languages. I speak English German Spanish, Turkish Azerbaijani and Uzbek and am currently trying my hand at Georgian.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Jerusalem's Allure

Me on the Mount of Olives

I didn’t expect to cry at the Western Wall. I hope people
who have been reading this aren’t getting the impression that I’m the
stereotypical blubbering female. I can assure you that I’m not. I’m not some
hard ass punk rocker chick either but I consider myself to have a fairly tough
exterior and I rarely cry in public. Funerals are just about it. Religious
experiences also rarely have this effect on me but like I said, it’s pretty
rare. I had expected the Wailing Wall to be a more cultural experience like visiting
a mosque. These too are beautiful spiritual places—but it isn’t my form of
spirituality. I appreciate them but it’s a very different than being in a
church for me. I actually went to the Western Wall twice. The first time I just
sat and watched and listened. I was there on a Friday around noon, I know that
I shouldn’t try to go much later since the Sabbath would be starting in a few
hours. The area was already buzzing and I observed with interest the comings
and goings of both worshippers and tourists like myself. I made a loop and
getting lost, ended up back at the wall. I noticed then that they were letting
visitors approach the wall. I had assumed that the natural worship areas would
be off limits but apparently no. They had modesty police at each entrance and I
watched one women who was told to cover her shoulders say “well, in that case
never mind”.I don’t understand people
who get annoyed by modesty policies at religious sites. They’re already letting
you in, what else do you want? I was deemed suitable in my long pants and
t-shirt but out of habit, and respect, I placed my scarf over my head and
arranged it to cover my chest and neck. I walked slowly towards the wall and
waited until a small place where I would be able to touch it opened up. I
placed my full palm on the stones, uneven, but perfectly smoother from years of
wear. I stayed only a few moments knowing that the true faithful were waiting
on me. I left a prayer walked backwards towards the exit and left. But in that
moment at the wall the full emotional burden of the place hit me. My chest tightened
in that way which makes you know years are coming. And so they did, small and
silent though as I left I think a few people noticed them. I don’t often cry in
public but when I do I refuse to be ashamed of it. I don’t use tears to het
what I want to influence or persuade. They are a reflection of me and I refuse
to be ashamed of myself.

The Western Wall

Leaving the wall I was accosted by an Orthodox man. He
wanted a donation for something. I was going to keep walking but being from the
Midwest it makes me feel like a jerk to not be friendly and he wasn’t
threatening at all either. Before I knew it he had ascertained my name and
hometown (I go by Hannah from Chicago when I travel) and given this combination
plus location I’m fairly certain he decided that I was Jewish. He proceeded to
tie a piece of red yarn on my right wrist, and even more surprising to me,
placed his hand on my head and gave me a blessing for Shabbat asking for the
best for me and my family and that I would find a nice boy and get married
soon. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I probably won’t be having any
Jewish babies.

Street sign in Jerusalem

I didn’t end up making it to the Dome of the Rock. The
current policy is that non-Muslims are only let into a single gate of the compound
and are only allowed access to certain parts of it and only during certain
times during the day. What these times are, I could not tell you. I tried to go
4 times at least and was turned back each and every time. Short faith
pop-quizzes are also administered by the guards to make sure that anyone who
says that they are a Muslim actually is. One girl in my hostel was brushing up
on her basic prayers so that she could get in the next day. It all seems rather
complex to me. But I got to see the complex from a distance so I cannot
complain. The golden dome stands out so much from the city, which from a distance
up in the hills seems a sort of light brown beige color, like sand. It looks
fragile like sand too, small and tight and yet this city has survived attacks,
retreats, being razed to the ground, burnings, massacres, revolts, rebellions,
repression and all the rest. I read somewhere that Jerusalem is like a jewel,
hard and bright and resilient. It’s an apt description of this city which has
been Holy for so many over the years and yet through all the adoration and
turmoil, has managed to survive.

Inside the Church of the Holy Sepulcher

The Church of the Holy Sepulcher was a remarkable place. It
took me a while to get in since it was Orthodox Good Friday. They are only a
few things in this world that I am afraid of, but one that I readily admit to
is Russian grandmothers. Old Russian women terrify me. Tough as nails and then
some, and not afraid to prove it. I have learned not to mess with older women
while traveling, because they will always win. I learned something in Jerusalem
though. If I find old Russian women terrifying, when they are on pilgrimage
this fear is multiplied 10-fold. The crowds to get into the church were tightly
packed and roadblocks had been set up to prevent too many people from getting to
the church at a single time. The policemen or guards or whatever they were manning
them did not radiate charm into the crowd. They were brusque and tempers were
running high. I got stopped twice, once on the road to the church and then
again before entering the front courtyard. This second time I was waiting for
an eternity in the crowd in the hot sun and considered turning back, but being
stubborn, I did not. Eventually we were let in through the tiny arched stone
doorway and I was swept along with the sea of pilgrims to the church, whose façade
I expected to be far more ostentatious. Since no single denomination has full
control over the church the architecture does not really has a distinct style.
It looks old and stone with strange additions jutting out at various angles. The
exterior just isn’t pretty. The interior is a maze, with chapels, monasteries,
crypts, and hidden rooms everywhere. Some are up a floor, though where the
stairs are I could not tell you. Others are only up a few steps, some down long
flights into the cellar, others you have to go through several rooms to get to the
inner one. At the center (I think, I was pretty turned around) is a large
central room and a smaller structure sits at its center. Pilgrims were ducking
in and then leaving, though only a few were selected for this special honor.
The walls of the church that go unclaimed by any particular group are
unadorned, with the claimed spaces making up for it, being festooned with
murals, icons, chalices, censers, candlesticks, embroidery, altars and all the
lavish paraphernalia of the Eastern church that I can’t help but like. People
were everywhere, taking pictures, lighting candles every which where (how the
whole place hasn’t been accidentally burned down is beyond me) kissing,
touching and even throwing things onto icons so that they might be blessed. A
few men from Holy Orders wandered around with pilgrims speaking to them every
few steps that they took. The bustle of the place was both deeply

The Church at the Tomb of Mary

overwhelming
and perfectly satisfying. Everyone was excited for Easter, for the
resurrection. Some people were settling down in the church for the ceremony of
the Holy Fire, where a fire magically starts in the inner chamber and is then
carried out distributed to everyone waiting in the church, around the church and
to all the places of worship in Jerusalem and then further afield. The footage
from this year shows an elderly orthodox priest sitting on the shoulders of
several men who sprint out of the chamber and the crowd surges forward as
everyone tries to light their torches and candles with the sacred flame. I did
not make it to the ceremony, but I’m not disappointed. I saw the church. I
walked the Via Dolorosa, where Christ made His final journey. I climbed the
Mount of Olives, where His Ascension took place. I saw the Pool of Bethesda
where He healed a sick man, and several churches that claimed to the site of
the Garden of Gethsemane, where He prayed His last night. I do not need a
mysterious ceremony to tell me that this city is Holy and beautiful and full of
life after thousands of years of bloodshed. The city tells me that for itself.

I graduated from Michigan State University in 2014 with degrees in chemistry, anthropology and Turkic languages. When not out globetrotting, I can be found perched in front of my laptop, sharing my adventures with you.